


Lost 〈In A Concrete Jungle〉

by kissaterapia



Series: Peaky Blinders [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Stabbing, Subtle panic attack, Subtle trauma, mutual feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22346017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissaterapia/pseuds/kissaterapia
Summary: Thomas had decided to go out to have a drink for himself. He meets an unexpected guest and loses into the moment to show his vulnerability to a close friend.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Peaky Blinders [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608532
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Lost 〈In A Concrete Jungle〉

Quiet hums of the wind pulled Tommy’s coat behind. In its own way, right now so gentle and careful, it tried to tell Tommy to turn around – to have a drink elsewhere, maybe back at home. But Tommy did not listen to the cries of the wind. He pushed the recently replaced door of the Shelby’s bar open and shifted inside.

The bar had been emptied from the older men that always spent their days there with nowhere else to be themselves at. Their drunk-filled laughters echoed inside Tommy’s head as he sat on a stool and threw his hat on the counter. He leaned on his elbow and rubbed the skin of his forehead with coldened fingers, closed his eyes and sighed. Frustration. Tiredness. Exhaustion.

And yet, the bar still remained empty.

Tommy leaned over the counter to grab a bottle of whiskey. He stumbled back onto his chair after an attempt of taking ice behind the counter too and the failure of it. Can’t stand up, or don’t want to stand up? Leave the ice.

He downed a half-full glass of the whiskey as fast as a soldier before entering the war zone. His thoughts raced inside his head – none of them made sense, and yet, maybe he did not need them to make sense. He tried to form words from his mouth just to clarify to himself that he was alright, but nothing came. He felt like a rabbit drowned into the eyes of a treacherous wolf hovering right above him – but this time the wolf was his own mind.

The sounds of men’s laughter and Grace’s quiet singing started to fade from his thoughts. With every shot he took of the drink, again and again, his mind emptied a little. So he took another one. Then downed another one once again.

A sound of the door behind his back tried to snap Tommy back into reality. There were a few steps – then they stopped.

‘Wouldn’t you consider it rude to have a strange man watching you in the middle of a night?’ Tommy asked. His voice held a rusty undertone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

‘This ain’t a private property out in the open. I can do as I please,’ the man answered. Tommy lit the cigarette and placed it between his lips. He breathed in and out a sigh disguised as a smoke. After a moment of silence, Tommy replied. ‘Go ahead.’

The sounds of steps behind him appeared again. The man with the curly hair and a fierce look in his eyes sat beside Tommy on a stool. ‘Havin’ fun with that smoke?’ he asked.

Tommy offered the cigarette to the man. ‘Want a taste?’ The man slid the cigarette from Tommy’s fingers and inhaled a smoke. Tommy kept his frosty eyes keen on the man’s own. ‘It’s late. The bar’s closed.’

The man ignored Tommy’s hint. ‘I’m Norman,’ he introduced himself. Tommy could hear a hint of sharpness in his voice. ‘Not like you would’ve known.’

‘Right on. Thank you for telling,’ Tommy replied with monotone sarcasm. Norman did not seem to appreciate this response judging by the frustrated squeeze of his brows. Norman got up from the stool, looked down at Tommy with sparks of danger in his eyes, and now reminded Tommy of a physical appearance of the wolf heaving inside his mind.

‘I ain’t here to gossip around and have a fancy teaparty of whiskey,’ Norman stated. Tommy’s shoulders tensed. He did not break eyecontact from the man, and he did not lose his cool. He tilted his chin up and looked at the man standing above him under his eyelids.

‘You’re predictable,’ Tommy mentioned. He moved his elbow to rest back on the counter, and his hand shifted behind his back to hold the knife attached to his belt. ‘Do you have a gun?’ Norman didn’t show any sign of agreement or rejection on his face. He simply pulled out a gun under his coat. Tommy blinked slowly – he refused to cut the eyecontact with the man. He was steady. Cautious.

‘I know what ya did to my brother.’ Norman pointed the gun at Tommy’s forehead and pressed the clip of it against the skin. ‘Sent him to fuckin’ London to die for your wee little business.’ Tommy pressed his lips together. He couldn’t remember anyone who had had a brother named Norman; then again, he hadn’t really asked anyone before. Norman continued, ‘Ralph.’

The distant memories of Ralph’s face flooded inside Tommy’s mind. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Cut the bullshit!’ Norman threw his knee to Tommy’s stomach and slammed Tommy’s head into the counter under them. He kept his hand steady and forceful on Tommy’s forehead as he slid the clip of the gun against Tommy’s skin. From his forehead to his cheek, then to his jaw – then to his neck. Norman pressed the gun further against Tommy’s throat. Tommy’s breath hitched in invisible fear. _The shovels._ ‘I know yer family is full of shit. I’ve heard. Could get a wealthy fuckin’ price for bringin’ your head-’

Tommy pulled out his knife and sank it into Norman’s neck. A violent cough escaped Norman’s mouth. Blood flooded from the wound, and Tommy stabbed his neck again. Tommy pushed Norman off him and the man fell violently on the ground. Tommy crawled on top of the struggling figure. His eyes widened at the sight – _there was a shovel in his hand_ – and he sank the knife back into Norman’s throat, again and again. His breathing fastened – he forgot how to breathe, and the knife damaged Norman under Tommy, killed him fast and continued to kill him, and it–

Tommy stopped. Norman didn’t breathe. They were under the water, both suffocating slow and painful, but Norman’s torture had ended – and Tommy desperately wished he could right now end his with the feeling of a gun, _of a shovel_ , still ghosting on his neck.

The knife dropped from Tommy’s shaky hand. It fell onto the ground – it covered in the blood flooding from Norman’s neck, and the blood started to cover the floor with a fast pace. Tommy pressed himself on the man under him. He lifted his hands and brushed his cheeks, wiped off fresh stains of blood under his eyes, and his lungs breathed heavily in and out.

‘–oh, for fuck’s sake, what the fuck happened here–’

How does one breathe? Can you breathe under the water – he had jumped in, yet he could not swim. He–

He slapped away the hand that had approached him. Tommy took in heavy and quick breaths as a man’s words slurred in his ears as white noise. With every passing second they started to make sense somehow. ‘Right, alright. Breathe, just breathe, alright? Easy comes, easy goes, nice and slow – yeah, like that...’ He recognized the voice. The words soothed Tommy’s state one by one, and his breathing slowly easened with every step that his friend tried to guide him through.

‘Alfie...’ Tommy’s voice was a raspy whisper.

‘Don’t seem to be a good night for ya this one,’ Alfie said. He placed his steady hands against Tommy’s arms and helped Tommy to slouch up. Tommy’s feet tried to fail his balance under him, but Alfie’s strong grip made sure that Tommy wouldn’t fall. Tommy brought his weakened hand to brush the damp corner of his eye. Alfie spoke. ‘Alright, what the hell happened here? That guy’s lookin’ like he had it comin’. Not to even mention how wrecked ya happen to look here, Thomas.’

‘Later,’ Tommy promised.

‘Sure.’ Tommy closed his eyes and let his head slowly fall on Alfie’s shoulder for comfort. He slid his hand to take a weak grip of Alfie’s hip, and the grip grew stronger with each second passing. He inhaled – let it in, let it out. _Nice and slow._ Tommy felt a hand on his back then, and the stiff strokes comforted him one by one. They were quiet. Excluding Tommy’s heavy breathing that seemed to start calming down, and the sound of Alfie’s hand pressing on the fabric of Tommy’s shirt again in strokes, everything was quiet.

He didn’t bother to open his eyes when the door opened again. ‘Tell ‘em to fuck off,’ Tommy quietly said, ‘Please.’ He never pleaded anyone. But right there he couldn’t care less about how others viewed him now. Maybe he was not the tough leader right now, and maybe he had let down his defense, and maybe it was a mistake – but Alfie proved his doubts wrong.

‘Right. Get outta here, ya hear me?’ Alfie brushed his free hand in the air. ‘Start clappin’, go on. Fuck off.’ The door closed as quickly as it had opened.

‘Alright, we gotta get ya home,’ Alfie said. Tommy didn’t respond. ‘Can ya walk?’ Still no response. Tommy let Alfie drag his body with strong hands as Alfie pulled Tommy’s arm over his shoulder and placed his hand steadily on Tommy’s hip. ‘Fuckin’ hell with ya, Tommy.’

Tommy pressed his head back onto Alfie’s shoulder. He lifted his other arm around Alfie’s neck and pressed lazily against the man. His voice was quiet, maybe even with a hint of shame in it, when he responded finally. ‘Can’t walk.’

Alfie crouched slightly and slid his arm under Tommy’s legs. Alfie lifted Tommy up on his arms, and Tommy slouched into the warm presence. ‘Try to sleep or somethin’. Ya need it.’

‘No sleep.’

‘I ain’t gonna judge. Just rest, alright, mate?’

‘I don’t wanna.’

Alfie sighed in defeat. ‘Got ya. But don’t try anythin’ stupid, like shootin’ me in the middle of the walk because ya got ashamed or some shit. Got it?’ Tommy nodded.

The bumpy walk did not really rest Tommy’s mind. He was in a vulnerable state, and Alfie had offered to help him – insisted on doing it – instead of taking advantage of it, like many would have done. And while the walking still did not really put Tommy to rest, the thought of someone caring did the job in its own way. The warmth of Alfie’s body close to his calmed Tommy enough for him to soon fall asleep.

* * *

The bed underneath had warmed from Tommy’s body moving in quiet, slight quirks. His dream had turned from a soothing black with tiny sparks of light here and there to a nightmare of shovels clanking against the walls. With soldier’s hands on his neck, guns pointed at heads and targets falling down, and the sounds of shovels echoed again.

The wall crashed.

Tommy’s eyes shot open. The clank of a metal beside his bed startled him enough for Tommy to pull out his gun from under the pillow, and he quickly pointed it to the direction of the sound. Alfie stood there with his hands up in defense. Tommy breathed quickly. He felt cold sweat dripping down his forehead as his heart raced against his chest. Just another nightmare – just another mirage of his thinking that someone would be at the door to kill him.

Alfie seemed confused of the situation. Tommy slowly lowered the gun and glanced at the table beside his bed. There was a tray with two apples and a piece of bread.

‘What the hell, Alfie?’ Tommy muttered.

‘Could be askin’ that from ya, actually. Yer the one here trynna shoot me and not the other way ‘round, ya see.’ Tommy opened his mouth just slightly, but he decided to close it. He moved on the bed to sit on the edge of it.

‘You brought me here?’

‘Yeah. Remember yesterday?’

So the nightmare had started when Alfie had left him, Tommy was aware. He stayed quiet. He leaned over to take a cigarette from the pack hidden in the pile of his clothes. Alfie pulled out a chair and sat on it backwards, his chest pressed against the back of the chair and arms resting on the top of the wooden back. Tommy placed the cigarette between his lips.

‘Did you do this?’ he asked, tilting his head towards the tray.

‘Yeah. Real wonders of my skills, just that. Don’t expect any fancy shit from me. Not the cookin’ type in the mornings. In the days, yeah.’ Tommy had not lit the cigarette yet as he took it away from his lips with a slow move.

‘Why did you bring it?’

‘Shit. Ya don’t eat or somethin’?’ Alfie was somewhat right. Tommy didn’t eat much – never felt like it, or maybe he had just lost his tastes. He couldn’t remember. He never really thought about it whenever he happened to eat.

‘Did you stay over the night?’

‘Ada suggested that, yeah. Wanted to know what happened. Bringin’ ya here all bloody and passed out would be a real banger for anyone.’

‘Did you tell her?’

‘Somethin’ what I saw. Didn’t know what happened earlier. Arthur got someone to clean the body outta there.’ Tommy nodded at Alfie’s words. He placed the cigarette back onto the table and carefully pulled the tray into his lap. He had been stripped of his clothes – he had his pyjamas on now, and had no memory of taking anything off. He glanced at Alfie, who seemed to understand what Tommy was thinking. ‘Ada and Polly cleaned ya. I wasn’t there.’

Tommy nodded again. ‘Good.’

It was silent again. Tommy took the piece of the bread into his hand and looked at it. It seemed like Alfie’s handmade. ‘I’m not used to eating in the mornings,’ Tommy mentioned.

‘Well, gotta learn at some point,’ Alfie pointed out. ‘You’ll feel better. I mean – shit, yesterday probably drained everythin’ outta ya. Ya know, that...’ Tommy felt distracted by the slight worry appearing in Alfie’s voice. He knew it could’ve been worrying for anyone to see Tommy in that state – he usually did not show that vulnerable side of him to anyone. Still...

Tommy placed the bread back onto the tray, but he kept the hold of it. ‘Alfie,’ he said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you for being here. Even after I almost shot you.’

Alfie was quiet for a moment. Tommy couldn’t decipher his thoughts from his expression – Tommy could almost never do that. Alfie had an unique skill of unpredictability.

‘It’s fine, Thomas, dear. I ain’t gettin’ scared by a gun or two. Just makin’ sure yer fine.’

‘I... appreciate it.’

Tommy usually never had guests inside his room. Often it would be Ada worried of his state, or Polly checking on him. Sometimes it would be John who’d want to share a smoke of his opium, and sometimes Arthur would come in to share his drunk thoughts. Other people were not very welcome, but Tommy wasn’t about to evict Alfie. He liked the man’s company, if he should be honest.

The two of them sat in silence. Alfie realized not to stare at Tommy while Tommy tried to eat, but Tommy kept his eyes locked on Alfie while the man was not looking. In the end, he ended up offering an apple to Alfie too – and though Tommy had never been into apples, he ate his own apple as Alfie enjoyed his own. They stayed silent, but it was mutual silence – they didn’t need to talk. They could sense what the other one was feeling, or at least Tommy had realized Alfie seemed to look away every time Tommy had too much pride to break eyecontact, and Tommy didn’t mention the soft grunts of pain Alfie tried to hide while holding his bad leg. Mutual comfort. They knew well enough to work it out.


End file.
